


the family unit

by attheborder



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Crack Treated Seriously, Gertrude Robinson's Cackle, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Pre-Canon, THE BOY'S TOO NORMAL, inadvisable eldritch childcare strategies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/pseuds/attheborder
Summary: Gertrude, bound for South America, was wholly unreachable. With little other recourse, Elias had a telegram sent to the port in Tierra del Fuego to meet her there when she arrived.WHAT IS THE INFANTS NAME. IF YOU DO NOT RESPOND I WILL NAME IT JONAH JUNIOR. ALSO PLEASE CANCEL TRIP AND RETURN TO LONDON POST HASTE TO RETRIEVE CHILD AT ONCE ASAP PLEASE. BEST WISHES ELIASPredictably, no reply was forthcoming.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 61
Kudos: 576





	the family unit

**Author's Note:**

> CW for villainous, mostly comedic but canon-typical threats of violence towards a baby. nothing bad actually happens to it though!!!

“Why didn’t you blow it up?” 

Gertrude stared at Elias with unguarded disdain. 

“Elias, even I’m not _that_ ruthless.” 

Elias raised an eyebrow. He’d disagree, if push came to shove, but this was… interesting. Had he finally found the chink in her armor? 

“I’m off to Patagonia,” she continued, businesslike. “I expect to be gone at least two months, investigating the Hunt. So you’ll need to keep an eye on it. The statements about the village were fascinatingly diverse, but inconveniently so. It’s unclear what entity it belongs to, which is why it’s absolutely vital that you—“ 

“Sorry— sorry,” Elias interrupted, “did you say _I’ll_ need to keep an eye on it? Gertrude, I’m not— I can’t simply—” 

“—keep it safely under observation until indications of its affiliation begin to manifest—”

“You can’t be _serious,_ Gertrude—”

“—and of course, any direct interference without that knowledge could pose a serious danger to you and thereby the Institute, but I don’t have to tell you that. Well, then. Goodbye, Elias.” With that, Gertrude pivoted on one sensible heel and exited Elias’ office without another word.

“Gertrude!” shouted Elias. “Gertrude, you come back here this instant—!” 

He didn’t stop shouting because he realized, usefully, that it would do him no good. No, he could have gone on howling after Gertrude for a good while longer, until he felt the anger drain slowly from his body, along with the urge to smash up the expensive decorative vase on a plinth next to his desk (which had just been installed earlier that week, after he’d smashed up the expensive decorative vase that had stood there previously). 

But he did stop, and that was because he’d woken the baby.

The baby, fussing inside the basket that Gertrude had deposited unceremoniously onto Elias’s desk minutes earlier, had started up a howling, klaxonesque wail that burrowed deep into his secondhand limbic system and induced a painful urge to _make it not do that._

If Elias knew anything, he knew people. He knew how they worked, what made them tick. He knew motivation like a language, its grammar his very lifeblood. 

But the squishy, sticky blob of flesh screaming at Elias from inside its lavender swaddling, though presumably as human as he was (which was to say: mostly), was another thing altogether. It would not respond to manipulation; the inside of its mind was a barely-sentient cloud of instinctive wants. There was hardly anything _to_ manipulate, not without causing permanent harm to the elastic and mutable structure of its growing brain. And Gertrude, in her laconic way, had been very specific that no harm should come to it before a better understanding of its nature could be reached. 

In the meantime, Elias needed it to _shut up._ For lack of any other options, he gingerly extended a finger over the basket, wiggling it just above the baby’s face. The wailing ceased, as two big blue eyes focused right in on the finger, and a pudgy hand emerged from the blanket to grab towards it.

He quickly jerked the finger away and, even though it hadn’t even touched anything, wiped it on his trousers before pressing the intercom button on his desk that connected him to his secretary, Beth. 

Half an hour later, Peter arrived, breezing past Beth right into Elias’ inner sanctum, as was his wont. “What is it, what do you need?” he said. “Beth said it was urgent.” 

“A quick trip through the Lonely, nothing more,” Elias said officiously. “I merely require a route to travel unobserved back to my flat—” 

“... Elias, what’ve you got back there?” Peter’s ears had been drawn, inevitably, to the mewling bundle of joy behind Elias’s desk.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” This was of absolutely no use at all; Peter swiftly crossed the room to get a better look at the basket Elias had tried futilely to conceal near his feet. 

“Is that a _baby?!_ Fucking hell, Elias—”

“ _Language,_ Peter.” 

“—do I even _want_ to know how you got hold of it?” 

“Gertrude,” muttered Elias darkly, and Peter nodded, his thick tufted eyebrows rising in understanding. 

“And I assume she’s—?”

“Gone now, yes.” Elias hauled the baby’s basket up from behind him and back onto the desk. “And I obviously cannot be _seen_ carrying this… item through the hallowed halls of the Institute,” he continued.

“Certainly not,” said Peter. “The harm to your public image would be incalculable.” He leaned over and gazed down clinically at the infant. It cooed adorably up at him, big blue eyes a-shining. Then Peter wrinkled his nose, and said, “It needs changing.”

Elias stammered, “I’m— well— clean it up, then! Using your— you know.” He waved a hand to demonstrate Peter’s particular abilities. 

“ _Elias._ I am _not_ banishing the contents of an infant’s nappy into the realm of my patron entity!”

“Not even to spare me the indignity of asking you to do it by hand?” 

Peter’s shock was palpable. “Are you telling me you don’t know how to change a nappy?”

“Are you telling me you _do?!”_

“I grew up with siblings, if you recall. And my mother was not exactly _hands-on_. Sometimes needs must, you know.” 

“Yes, alright. No need to lord it over me.” 

They engaged in a bit of a stare-off, Elias’ black eyes boring into Peter’s blue-grey, heavy-lidded gaze. Finally, Elias shook his head with disgust and called Beth in. She’d obviously heard the thing crying, he was going to have to let her into his confidence for now, even if he knew he’d be removing the memories manually after this had all blown over. 

While Beth bewilderedly took the baby off to the toilet to do what had to be done, Elias explained to Peter what little he knew of the situation: the infant, recovered by Gertrude from a now-destroyed village in Lancashire that had been the convergence point of multiple powers; the ambiguity of its origins and the need for ongoing observation. 

“You don’t Know anything about it?” 

“It’s a _baby,_ Peter. There’s nothing in its head for me _to_ Know. All I have to go on is what Gertrude’s told me, and I believe she was telling the truth. It _could_ belong to any power. Attempting to harm it before we understand its vulnerabilities could easily backfire.” 

“Hmm.” Peter stroked his beard, a cruel glint sparking in his eyes. “Two months, eh? I bet you couldn’t last _one_ on your own with that thing.”

Dammit. Peter and his damn gambling streak. He was so predictable. Elias scoffed, but he couldn’t just brush off a challenge like that, now that it had been tossed into the ring. “I _could,_ ” he countered. 

“One month,” said Peter, “without passing it off to some nanny, without getting yourself blown up trying to kill it, and, most importantly, without ringing _me_ for help. How’s that for a wager?” 

“Very well. As long as you get me home, right now, through the Lonely. I’ll find… other ways, after that.” 

“Alright. And if I win—” 

“—which you won’t—” 

“—you’ll be dealing with the People’s Church folks on my behalf, the next time they want to arrange transport. How’s that sound?” 

Elias grimaced. He hated cults; so disorganized and dogmatic, compared to his neat and bureaucratic approach to avatarship. Rayner’s people were the worst of them all, practically foaming at the mouth with their heady visions of pitch, and Elias knew full well how Peter would relish the chance to fob them off onto him. 

Not that he’d _get_ that chance— it was one baby, for one month. Elias was over two centuries old, with nearly unlimited resources of knowledge and money. How hard could it be? 

“Deal,” he said. 

Beth returned then, making to hand the infant directly back to Elias, who put up his hands and waved her to set it back down in the basket instead. She did so, and then backed slowly out of the room without another word, giving the child a lingering, longing sort of look that Elias did not have time to investigate any further. 

With a gesture, Peter opened a misty portal into the Lonely; down the foggy beach, an exit into Elias’s sleek Mayfair flat was visible. “I’ll be expecting your call,” he said.

“And you won’t get it!” snapped Elias. 

“Whatever you say, dear.” 

Gertrude, bound for South America, was wholly unreachable. With little other recourse, Elias had a telegram sent to the port in Tierra del Fuego to meet her there when she arrived. 

_WHAT IS THE INFANTS NAME. IF YOU DO NOT RESPOND I WILL NAME IT JONAH JUNIOR. ALSO PLEASE CANCEL TRIP AND RETURN TO LONDON POST HASTE TO RETRIEVE CHILD AT ONCE ASAP PLEASE. BEST WISHES ELIAS_

Predictably, no reply was forthcoming. 

“How’s our little JJ?” asked Peter over the phone, the following evening. He’d called Elias to check in, just in case Elias was ready to concede. But the bet was still on. 

“Please do not call him that,” said Elias bitterly. “I despise nicknames.” 

“Well, I certainly can’t call him _Jonah,_ ” said Peter. “Most of my associations with that name are rather—” 

“Yes, yes, alright,” Elias groaned. “Anyway. He’s … fine. Asleep. For now.” 

“No sign of any powers?” 

“Not yet. I thought for a moment it was manifesting a connection to the Corruption, but—”

“It was just a particularly bad poo, wasn’t it?” 

“Unfortunately.”

Elias was meant to be wining and dining some assorted Fairchilds that week to secure funding for the Institute’s coming fiscal year, but when he considered the kind of ruthless, gleeful cackle Simon would let out when he showed up toting a snot-nosed infant, he felt grimly nauseous. 

Leaving the infant behind on its own was a non-option, but enlisting any help would be tantamount to handing Peter victory on a silver platter, only three days into the challenge. So he had Beth push the meeting back a month, past the bet’s expiration date, and then lay in bed, trying to read a book and failing, listening to the child wail relentlessly from its basket.

Elias didn’t like to open the door inside his head that led to the original memories of his body’s owner— he always had the nagging, irrational fear it’d lock behind him, and he wouldn’t be able to climb back out— but he tried it now, on the off-chance Bouchard had done a bit of babysitting back in the day, and had some tips to share. No luck, of course— the useless kid hadn’t so much as gone near a baby during the short course of his adult life. 

With little other recourse, Elias gingerly picked up the yowling bundle, holding it against his chest. “ _Twinkle twinkle baby J,_ ” he sang tunelessly, “ _one day I’ll make Gertrude pay. Somewhere there’s a giant Eye, that really wants you not to cry. Twinkle twinkle baby J, please shut up for just... one... day..._ ” 

He worked from home as often as he could, but when he absolutely had to come in, he arrived before everyone else and left late, in order to avoid being spotted toting Jonah Junior around.

There was a close call, when one of the librarians walked past Elias in the lobby as he was leaving. He’d made sure to See that the building was empty, but Gareth must have inconveniently reentered after he’d made his last checks.

“Left my wallet, don’t mind me,” Gareth called cheerily, and then when he came close enough to Elias to see what he was carrying, he stopped, put a hand on his hip, and pointed at the basket, inside which the gently dozing Jonah Junior could be glimpsed, even in the dim after-hours light of the lobby.

“Mr. Bouchard! I didn’t know you were a _father!_ ” Gareth sing-songed.

“I’m not,” said Elias. 

Gareth raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s—” 

“It’s _nothing,”_ said Elias, his voice dropping to a threatening growl. “You see _nothing.”_

With the merest of efforts, he reached into Gareth’s mind and plucked out the memory of the encounter. As the librarian disappeared past him down the hall, stumbling slightly as he went, Elias felt a deep flush of shame, not absolved in the least by his quick problem-solving. 

He raised the basket up, glaring incensed at the baby inside. “I will burn you down dust,” hissed Elias, anger surging through him. “I will scorch your existence from this dimension. I will crush you under my fists, I will rend you into nothingness, I will give the universe cause to Know you no more—”

“Ba ba ba ba ba,” Jonah Junior gurgled, his little hands swinging out eagerly at Elias’ face. Tiny fingers made purchase on the tip of Elias’s nose and squeezed. 

This caused Elias to sneeze, his head jerking to the side to avoid expelling directly into the child’s face, and Jonah Junior immediately burst out into delighted giggles. The hiccuping laughs echoed in the empty lobby, multiplying and reverberating, and Elias felt his anger dissipate like sugar in water.

***

Three weeks after Gertrude had dropped the child off, only one week out from victory, and Elias had not slept in days. 

He had important things to do in his sleep! Dreams to stalk, enemies to terrorize with nightmares of eyes, the gentle privacies of unconsciousness across London to shatter and invade. But he couldn’t _do_ any of that with Jonah Junior screeching out every half-hour, endless demands for food or cleaning or— worst of all— _entertainment._

For the hundredth time that month, Elias cursed the limitations of his powers. He had never regretted his pledge of eternal allegiance to Beholding, but sometimes its inherent passivity, compared with the aggression of, say, the Hunt or the Slaughter, came as quite the inconvenience. 

With very little effort Elias could Know the contents of every bringing-up-baby book on the shelves at Waterstones, but none of that knowledge would _matter_ in the face of the fact that the thing was bound by no logic, no order, and certainly not by any command.

It may have _looked_ like a pink, wet, bug-eyed lump, barely able to roll over on its own, but surely Jonah Junior had been borne of an entity— very possibly one directly opposed to the Eye. It was evil incarnate, from its fuzzy head all the way down to the tips of its tiny toes. 

The thoughts of what the child was capable of, if Elias were to act on sleep-deprived impulse, were myriad. It might warp into distortion and trap him among endless loops of wrongness. It might curdle his flesh and shatter his bones with a touch. Its wide eyes might expand into a Vast void and encompass him inside an endless expanse.

And yet— and yet. 

_Kill it,_ rumbled the wordless animus of the Ceaseless Watcher inside his mind, as Jonah Junior screamed. _Destroy it. It threatens your power. It is the Unknown, it is your enemy, it must be dealt with, it must be erased._

Elias picked up the phone and dialed. “Get over here _now_ ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “I am _seconds_ away from _strangling it,_ Peter _—”_

Seconds later, Peter misted into existence in Elias’s parlor and snatched Jonah Junior from him, cradling the child in his burly arms.

“Shh, shh,” Peter whispered to the baby, “He wouldn’t have really strangled you, not yet. He won’t kill you _until_ you’ve really done something to deserve it. And you will, won’t you? Aren’t you a good little avatar? Who’s a good avatar! That’s right, _you_ are! Yes you are, JJ!” 

Peter’s lilting, melodic voice seemed to soothe the child in an easy and immediate way that Elias himself had been utterly unable to accomplish, even after hours of similar attempts. 

Elias _liked_ his own voice. He’d chosen this body on the strength of it, among other things, and its elegant tenor and sly insistence was a weapon he wielded with confidence. So to be shown up like this, by pseudo-cheerful _Peter Lukas_ of all people, a man who failed to carry out casual conversations with _full-grown adults_ on a regular basis, was mortifying, to say the least.

Although— now that Peter had a sleeping baby in his arms, and his expression had shifted from competent determination to something more resembling mounting distress _,_ Elias was realizing that perhaps losing the bet wasn’t the worst thing that could have possibly happened. 

Sure, he’d have the dull chore of dealing with rabid Raynerites before too long. But by forfeiting, Elias had locked Peter into this horrendous duty right alongside him. 

Peter, desperately wanting to be alone, tolerant of Elias’s company only so far as it made for something to miss painfully when he did not have it and thereby satisfy his patron even further, was now saddled with the burden of responsibility, if only temporarily, for a helpless infant life. And the Knowledge of how deliciously scared this made Peter felt nearly as good to Elias as the thought of the hours of sleep he was about to enjoy. 

_Nearly._

***

The rescheduled meeting with the Fairchilds the following week ended up going well, well enough that Elias had a genuine smile on his face when he returned to his flat. 

Say what one would about Simon and his proclivities, but after over a month mostly working from home with only the gurgles of Jonah Junior and Peter’s limited conversational skills for company, it was a relief for Elias to dine with someone who could legitimately hold their own in intellectual repartee. 

At one point, however, Simon couldn’t help injecting just a bit of characteristic mischief into the proceedings. “You have a bit of a glow about you, Elias,” he’d said, flashing a cheeky smile over the rim of his wine glass. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d say you’ve been through some _life changes_ recently.” 

Then, blessedly, he’d changed the subject to postmodernism, leaving Elias to breathe a sigh of relief, and also make an urgent mental note to ask Beth if she noticed anything even remotely resembling a “glow” around him the next time he came in to the Institute.

When Elias arrived back to his flat, Peter had some nature show about the Arctic playing on the television, the volume low. He looked so delicious sprawled out on Elias’s antique brocade sofa, the Victorian decadence of the surrounding room clashing appealingly with his rugged, utilitarian clothing and insouciant pose. 

“It went well, thank you for asking,” Elias said, as he carefully hung up his coat. In response, Peter grunted out a wordless greeting from his position.

Leisurely crossing the room to the sofa, Elias put a knee up onto the cushion, edging it between Peter’s thighs, and then leaned over, his hand braced on the back of the sofa as he dropped his head towards Peter’s face. 

Peter was avoiding Elias’s gaze, tilting his face away from Elias and towards the flickering shapes on the screen. But this was the best part, this little tug of war. Elias would draw Peter out slowly, coaxing the tendrils of loneliness away and replacing them with his cool fingers in those secret places. In turn Peter would come to know Elias, control him, in his way, in those special moments, with a terrifying intimacy that ought to be the exclusive purview of his own all-seeing patron. 

And then, of course, when it was all over, the rush of things returning to their rightful places, their natural order, was very nearly as pleasurable as the act itself. 

Elias, kneeling over Peter, ran a hand through the dark, curly mess of his hair, shot through more and more these days with silver. He nosed down into the roughness of Peter’s unshaven neck, inhaling the harsh sea-scent that stuck to the captain even weeks into shore leave. 

Peter barely moved as Elias stroked his face, licked at his throat, but where Elias’s knee met the join of Peter’s trousers he could feel him growing tantalizingly hard. 

Finally, Elias’s mouth found Peter’s, and Peter let out a soft moan, the precise admission of desire Elias was seeking. Peter leaned up, wrapping one strong arm around Elias’s back and pulling him down so they were chest to chest, and Elias let himself sink into the embrace, reveling in Peter’s increasingly undone breaths, soaking up the self-hating desperation with which he kissed him.

And then just as Peter’s other hand inched forward, a fumble at Elias’s trousers that promised to soon turn into a dextrous unbuttoning and a firm, hot grip— there was a bloodcurdling wail from somewhere _very_ close by. 

They both froze. 

“Fuck,” said Peter. “The fucking baby.” 

Elias didn’t even bother to reprimand Peter for his language. He just sighed, as Peter rolled off the sofa from underneath him, and he was left lying bereft on his stomach, resisting the urge to rub himself off in the time it took Peter to calm the damn thing down.

***

Peter had a “shipping” “run” scheduled later that month, and Elias was tempted to ask him to postpone it, at least until Gertrude returned. But he knew very well how Peter got if he didn’t get his precious Tundra time, and it wasn’t worth the weeks of tetchiness he’d have to endure just to have another pair of hands on deck, as it were.

So Elias was back to sneaking Jonah Junior into the office, manipulating memories of Institute personnel as needed to avoid embarrassment. 

It was late afternoon, and Elias was trying to get some paperwork done, but the child kept _staring_ at him. Being caught in the wide green gaze of Jonah Junior was a nearly physical thing, an inconvenient anchoring that constantly distracted Elias from his duties. 

He idly wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps regardless of its initial affiliation, the child could be honed into a tool of Beholding, with the right efforts... 

But no— _no._ He could _not_ start down that path. The Montague girl’s pointless death so recently had proven the futility of such a strategy. Avatarship had to be chosen— even Peter had made his own choice, when he’d been initiated into the “family business” and begun to walk the path of the Lonely. 

Elias had just managed re-focused on the papers before him when the door swung open. There were only two people who habitually bypassed Beth on the way in— Peter, and Gertrude. So Elias knew, without even having to Look, who he’d see when he looked up.

Gertrude cut a slim, elegant figure in her burgundy overcoat and tartan scarf. Elias waved to greet her, but she wasn’t looking at him— her eyes had caught immediately on the baby in its cradle, perched on top of Elias’s desk. 

She froze, her mouth falling slightly open in shock— and then she _cackled._ She leaned against the door, one hand to her heart, threw back her head, and cackled for what seemed like days.

“Oh, good Lord, Elias,” she wheezed eventually, lifting up her glasses to wipe at her eyes. 

“Thought I couldn’t manage it, Gertrude?” smirked Elias. “Didn’t have _confidence_ in me, I see? Well, I’m sorry to have disappointed you.” 

“I’m not disappointed,” Gertrude managed, her grin still seeming like it might split her face in half. “Just… surprised.”

“Anyway, after close observation, I’m fairly certain it belongs to the Spiral,” said Elias, trying to regain control of the situation, “though Peter is nearly positive it’s of the Buried—” 

“It’s not.” 

“...And how would you know?” 

“I received a report from Dekker, a few days after I left for Patagonia,” she said matter-of-factly. “Proof that the infant doesn’t belong to any of the powers after all.” 

“You mean…” growled Elias slowly, “that this _entire time,_ I have been expending energy _caring_ for— a _regular human child?”_

Gertrude grinned. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” 

“And you didn’t think to _tell me_ when you found out?!” 

Gertrude shrugged. “Seemed like a problem that would solve itself, in time. I suppose I misjudged.” 

Rage exploded out from Elias’s chest; before he knew it he was pushing his chair back, drawing back a fist, ready to smash up the nearest decorative object. But then Jonah Junior let out a single, piercing wail, and Elias’s balled fist stilled, inches from the vase on its plinth. He turned as though remote-controlled, and leaned over the basket to soothe the child with a whisper.

Jonah Junior fell silent; Gertrude stared at the scene before her, brazen grin turned to something more inscrutable.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “I’ll dispose of it now, then.” 

Before Elias even knew what he was doing, he was stepping backwards, hands tightly closing around the basket, lifting it off his desk and away from Gertrude. 

A vague memory of one of the first thoughts he’d had regarding the situation floated back up through his mind. _Even I’m not that ruthless,_ she’d said, and he’d wanted to disagree— he should have trusted his instincts all along. She had just been trying to get him to do her dirty work, finish the job, all as part of some scheme, some private joke, a spot of hilarity in her dark and dangerous world— and now that he’d failed, she was taking matters into her own hands. 

“Elias,” Gertrude said slowly, moving towards him, “you’re not wanting to _keep_ it… are you?” 

“No!” he said quickly, “Absolutely _not,_ I have— he is a _burden_ and a _waste_ of my time and I didn’t want _anything_ to do with him in the first place—”

“Then _give it to me_ ,” said Gertrude, pointing to the baby, “and I’ll do what was always going to have to be done, Elias.” 

Elias had to think fast. Was this some sort of test? 

He could not keep the child. That much was obvious. The baby may have belonged to no Entity after all— but it had exerted power over Elias all the same, he was realizing now. Dangerous, ruthless power that threatened the stability of everything he’d built; tiny sticky hands tearing rents in his territory of fear. 

Gertrude was looking at Elias, her calculating eye counting out the seconds he hesitated. He couldn’t see inside her head—would never dare to try—but he could feel himself diminishing in her esteem as he malingered, and he hated how much that hurt him.

“Beth,” he said, pressing the intercom button. “Come in here, please.” 

The secretary, smoothing down the front of her jumper, entered with tentative steps, looking wide-eyed between Gertrude and Elias. 

“This infant,” he said, lifting the basket, “is in need of a home. And you’ve always wanted a child, ever since you watched your mother nurse your baby brother when you were seven. You’ve watched this baby come and go from my office, growing more and more envious all the while. You've daydreamed about stealing it from me, when my back is turned, though of course you'd never dare. You've even started— _my,_ Beth, such effort— a _Pinterest_ board of design ideas for a nursery. Well, I am happy to tell you that it's your lucky day." 

Elias did not think it was possible for Beth’s eyes to get any wider, but he was proven wrong, as he transferred the basket to her hands. 

“All the paperwork will be taken care of,” he said. “You’ll no longer need to come into work, but your current salary will be paid out indefinitely, as long as Jonah Junior remains in your care.” 

Gertrude, to her credit, did not say a word, as Beth babbled out bewildered gratitude, looking down from the baby back to Elias as though she couldn’t quite believe she wasn’t dreaming.

At last, she left, taking Jonah Junior with her. Gertrude folded her arms, and glanced at Elias, as though daring him to say something.

“Well, what are you still standing there for?” Elias snapped at her. “Get back down to your precious Archives. And send one of your assistants up here for the day— I’ll need temporary help while I look for a new secretary.” 

Gertrude nodded, and delivered one of her trademark smirks, the cool light of the room glinting just for a moment off the lenses of her overlarge glasses. 

Then she, too, was gone, and Elias was alone, in a very quiet office. 

He sat down heavily in his leather office chair, and the first thing he wondered was what Peter would say, when he returned to shore and learned how it had all ended. 

Well— that wasn’t quite true. Elias knew, with some certainty, that Peter would shrug, nonchalant, projecting detachment for his own benefit as much as Elias’s. “So it goes,” he’d probably say, in that jovial way of his. 

And Elias, after that initial recap, would certainly never find cause to bring up this odd interlude of his life ever again— not to Gertrude, not to Peter. 

He certainly wouldn’t tell Peter about what he did that night, and for many nights beyond. He wouldn’t tell Peter about how, after he closed his eyes but before he fell into purposeful dreams, he would navigate, with the Eye’s unerring accuracy, towards the suburban flat Beth rented, where inside a white crib, a small and terribly familiar soul slumbered on.

He would watch, and he would listen, and he’d wonder if the child would remember him at all, when he grew up. 

But it didn’t matter, not really. Even if he didn’t, Elias would be Watching. That much, he could be sure of. 

_Twinkle twinkle, baby J…_

_You just might serve the Eye one day..._

***

**Author's Note:**

> Jonah Junior probably wins prizes for his tropical fish. 
> 
> i'm on tumblr! [@areyougonnabe](http://areyougonnabe.tumblr.com)


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